


In Another Life

by coolant



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Eventual Smut, F/M, Spoilers for Blackwall's Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 08:40:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4131348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolant/pseuds/coolant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Am I safe with you, Captain Rainier?” She looked him in the eye.</p><p>“Aye.” He smiles though he’s not sure she is. “I finish what I start.”</p><p>An AU in which the Inquisitor is just a mage from a noble house and Blackwall is just Thom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Game

Thom Rainier leaned rigidly against the marble wall, regarding the bustling room before him with some disdain. He pressed up to the wall in hopes of escaping the clout of perfume floating above mass of color and gold, of clacking shoes and swishing skirts. He hated these bloody things. At the very least, he’d forgone this mask- that must-have accessory for any Orlesian courtier. He figured, as a Captain, he could afford to commit a few faux-paus.

He peered across the ballroom and spotted Grand Duke Gaspard. He had a mask on- gold and gaudy. Thom supposed that despite his renown as a Chevalier, his other stations warranted more tact, a more conventional navigation of Imperial court. A bit away from him was Ser Robert Chaupis, speaking with another Chevalier, though Thom couldn’t see his face. He dully noted it was brazen for the two of them to even been in the same room together, especially in the presence of the Empress. The Duke’s envy of her throne was well known, and those associating with him were assumed to be colluding with him in one way or another.

Thom hated politics. He hated nobles, to be frank. Most of his colleagues were of noble blood and there were quite a few of them he’d like to throttle. But he hated these events more. Courtiers danced and gossiped, playing their Game. His presence was largely ceremonial. He had no real job here- guardsmen in lower stations were the ones in charge of security. He was here to… socialize? Mingle? Raise his social status? Thom would rather fight for his place in the world, not weasel his way up.

Thom's drifting eyes spotted a woman slipping away through the sea of satin and skirts to a nearby balcony. No one seemed to notice her exit but him, her soft velvet dress trailing heavily behind her. She rested her elbows on the balustrade and rubbed her cheeks. She was also without a mask. He watched her as she tried to cool her neck with hands chilled by the balcony railing. He became curious.

She looked strange, a thing misplaced. She didn't wear the fashionable wide skirts and white gloves of the Orlesian ladies. Her dress was fitted until the waist, then loose and flowing, the whole thing a deep blue with threads of gold and white woven throughout.

He swayed where he was against the wall, thinking for a moment. The only women Thom approached were those in taverns near the barracks. He wasn’t keen on courting nobles, as they tended towards the same airs he found tiresome in his fellow noble Chevaliers. He attended these gatherings because he was expected to, not to meet and great. But she looked lonely- or, at least, he felt compelled to provide her with company. He strode towards the balcony with his arms behind his back.

"Feeling faint?" Thom asked, joining her on the balustrade. It was unseasonably warm for an autumn evening. He stood an appropriate distance away, not wanting to startle her.

"What? Oh." She turned, her face flushed. "I just needed some air. Not too keen on these things."

"Have you been to many?" He asked, sizing her up. Her face was round with full lips and cheeks. It seemed every part of her was a soft curve- arms, shoulders, hips, chest... Thom reined in his gaze focused on her face. Green eyes, brown skin and curly black hair twisted and braided behind her head. She smiled; it was disarming.

"No, actually. I haven't been." She looked down at her hands shyly. Her hands were delicate and lean. She was surely of noble birth; those hands had never seen labor. "This is only my second ball. At my first I was probably about 12."

"It's been a while, then." He smiled too, a flash of teeth to accompany his idle conversation.

"I'm Llewyn." She offered after watching him for a moment, deciding he had passed some unknown test. "Or, um, the Youngest Lady Trevelyan, if you like titles." She spoke this name mockingly, as if she were uncomfortable with it.

"Captain Thom Rainier." He bent into a bow, extending his hand to her. She cautiously met his fingers and blushed as he pressed his lips to her knuckles. He felt proud to have flustered her.

"It's a pleasure." She managed, clearly trying very hard not to look ruffled.

"I didn't know the Trevelyan’s had a younger daughter." Thom shifted gears, not wanting to embarrass her  _too_  much. He was familiar with nobles and their titles, standings in court. It helped to know who you could and couldn't piss off. "I thought all the had a daughter and two sons in the Templars."

"I'm a well-kept secret." Llewyn shrugged, smiling coyly. She had regained her composure with skillful speed. Perhaps she was more familiar with this Game than he'd originally thought.

"Who would want to keep you a secret?" He let the implied compliment hang. She eyed him, pursing her lips playfully.

"I'm actually  _quite_  the trouble maker." She paused for a beat, then fired back. "I see you're a Chevalier but you don't  _sound_  Orlesian." She referenced his finery, unarmored but imposing and bearing the sigil of the Chevaliers.

"I'm not. I'm from the Free Marches." Thom did not often divulge his heritage. It often evoked some amount of distaste. Common-blooded Chevaliers faced scrutiny, regularly accused of having liaisons with  _le Mage du Sang_  and bought their way in. But he felt he could be candid, her accent only a refined version of his own, her eyes earnest and kind.

"Oh! So that's how you know of my family." She laughed. "The Orlesian court hardly gives us a second glance. Too back-woods for them."

"They're too busy playing their Game to care much about the world outside court." He suggested. He had figured Llewyn, while savvy, wasn't really Playing, and that was a relief. Thom had fought long and hard to overcome the contempt for commoners; he’d had to do his share of politicking and boot-licking. He liked the idea of dropping all pretense- to, for a moment, stop  _Playing_.

"Yes, that Game. It's fun, for a while." Llewyn sighed, stretching her neck. "But I prefer games I can stop when I want. This is all very cut-throat. I suppose that's why I'm out here."

"I suppose that's why I'm out here, as well." Thom leaned on the railing besides her, his posture loosening.

"Really? You didn't just come out here to talk to me?" She asked in mock-innocence. Her eyes twinkled like the gold earrings she wore.

"Alright, perhaps it was both." Thom laughed, raising a hand in defeat. She seemed to appreciate his honestly and leaned in.

"Captain Rainier-"

"Just Thom."

"Thom." Then she lowered her voice as if telling a scandalous secret. " _Do you know where I can get a beer?_ "

He let out a big, belly laugh, then extended his arm to her.

"Follow me."


	2. Beer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Llewyn and Thom ditch the party to get a nice cold brew and perhaps to dance, among other things.

This man, Thom, had lead her away from the ballroom and its masks. She lingered outside the kitchen where servants where now relaxing, having finished a long day of preparing for the festivities. She noticed they were mostly elves, just like at home. She lingered outside not because she was afraid, but because she felt out of place. She'd never felt noble enough to prance around ballrooms, nor common enough to rub elbows with the everyman.

Thom was conversing with one of the elves in the kitchen. She took that moment to examine him without fear of being caught staring. He was a bear of a man who looked taller than he was. His hair was dark and short and slicked back, his face freshly shaven. His nose looked like it had been broken a few times, crooks and bumps in places. He had prominent cheek bones, a heavy brow, and particularly pink lips for a man.

He returned to her carrying two big mugs of ale, grinning. In the short time she’d been in his company she had noticed a subtle swagger in how he held himself. She would normally find that annoying, but she somehow couldn’t help but be charmed. They sat down on a bench outside the kitchen. From there they could both hear the rabble-rousing of the staff and the delicate waltzes drifting from the ballroom a few stories up.

The tankard felt too big for her hands; she held it with both and sipped at it awkwardly. She wasn't normally a beer-drinker; she much preferred mulled wine or spiced brandy. But something about being stuck in a wine-and-perfume scented mass all evening made her crave something out of the ordinary.

"Ahh," Llewyn sighed after managing a decent gulp. It wasn't particularly good beer, but it was cool. "Thank you. I needed this." She said, emphatic.

"Thank _you_." Thom raised his tankard to her. "I wouldn't have left on my own. Bit depressing, drinking alone during a party."

"But this isn't depressing?" She peered at him over her mug, fishing.

"No. Drinking in good company never is." Thom’s smile was warm; Llewyn leaned her face further over her mug to hide her blush.

She sighed again, relaxing against the wall behind the bench. She looked out at the courtyard. It was mostly crops- herbs and things for the kitchen, a larger version of the garden at home. They cast a crisp shadow on the dirt, the moon shining bright on them. A strange silence settled between them as they drank. It wasn’t uncomfortable despite its foreignness. It was pleasant, to Llewyn’s surprise.

Llewyn's belly soon became warm, muscles starting to relax. Both their tankards were empty, though Thom's had been refilled a few times. She stood when a change of song came drifting down from the nearby balcony. She ran fingers over the beam the held the little overhang they sat beneath, listlessly feeling the rough wood. Despite not missing being in the ballroom, she found herself staring at the balcony above. A golden glow emitted from the doorway, flickering like a candle. _I’ll probably never be to another one of these_. She reminded herself. _They’ll probably lock me back up in my room when we get home._ Her fingers tightened around the wooden post and the tips of them began to warm.

Then Thom emerged from the corner of her eye and gave a shallow bow, causing her hand to fly to her side.

“Would you care to dance, Lady Trevelyan?” She caught a subtle smirk beneath that sever brow. _Perhaps for now I can pretend._ She thought wistfully, taking his hand and sliding the other onto his shoulder.

“Are you much of a dancer, Thom?” Llewyn asked, feeling the callouses on his palm, thick and rough from years of fighting.

“I couldn't say, my lady.” They were close enough that she felt the rumble of his voice. “I know the steps, but I can't speak to my skill at it.”

Now he was the one being coy. He knew the steps and he knew the rhythm, the gentle sway and turn of the waltz. You don't become a Chivaleir without learning how to dance properly. He led, but didn't sweep her away with him. He led her gently by the hand, guiding her with him as they whirled. When he pulled her a little closer, and she obliged, their chests touching.

“Though my experience is rather limited,” She could smell him as she breathed. He smelled of beer and Orelesian cologne. She could hear his breathing. “I'd say you're a rather good at it.” He looked down at her, right into her eyes, smiling without teeth. The waltz came to an end and he drew her outward for a bow.

“You flatter me.” Thom said as they rose. He lingered before letting go of her hand. Llewyn leaned again against the beam.

“False modesty doesn't suit you.” She noted. She thought him too cocksure for such banter; his demeanor up till then had been confident, a little arrogant. He didn't need her flattery.

But Thom's face changed, his smile melting slightly. He moved towards her.

“Who said it was false?” _He’s very close_ , Llewyn thought vaguely.

“Just a guess.” Llewyn replied, examining his face further despite the increasing thumping of her heart. He had very blue eyes. She could have sworn they looked a little sad.

“I _am_ flattered. I'm flattered that you're here at all, drinking beer in the servants’ quarters with some stranger.”

“I told you. I don't like these parties.”

“Is that the only reason you're here?” He asked. She supposed it was fair they both got a turn to ask this; to request a peak behind the mask of the other. They were not playing _the_ game but they were still playing one. _Why are you here?_

Llewyn flushed, her smile betraying her nerves as it flickered.

“No, not the only reason.” Her voice came out like a whisper. He was looking at her, eyes examining her eyes, then her mouth, then her eyes again. Llewyn barely breathed.

Thom kissed her. It was not a slow kiss, but a crashing, breath and lips colliding with ferocity. Llewyn sighed, her voice quivering as she kissed back, their bodies moving like a wave.

Then he pulled back, suddenly uncertain. He laughed sheepishly.

“Forgive me, my lady. I think all the beer has made me bold.” Llewyn would have laughed but she hardly had any air.

“I _like_ bold.” She managed. That was all the permission he needed. He took her into another kiss, this time gently taking hold of her waist. He moved her whole body when he kissed her, trying to feel all of her at once. He paused, hovering his mouth over hers, his breath hot, before kissing her deeply, their tongues meeting.

Thom's breathing had quickened, and so had Llewyn's. He broke the kiss and rested his forehead to hers. Llewyn was sad that he did, but also vaguely relieved. If he hadn't stopped, she didn't think she could’ve. Thom seemed to search for something to say as he breathed.

“You're beautiful.” He managed. She laughed, hands wrapping around the back of his neck.

“Usually you compliment a girl _before_ you kiss her.” Llewyn paid little credence to the words of a man whose cock she could now feel hard pressed against her thigh, certain he was just drunk and aroused.

“Hah,” Thom laughed softly. “I think beneath this bloody uniform, I'm still that foolish boy from Markham, getting nervous around girls.”

Llewyn's eyes narrowed. Those words felt oddly genuine, more so than any of the others he's spoken. She ran a thumb over his lips.

“Foolish boys can be sweet.”

“Can be.” He said no more than that. Thom withdrew from their embrace but took her hand from his lips and held it. Llewyn felt cold where his body had been. The soft tinkling of the music began to fade from the balcony above. The party was waning, though it would continue throughout the night in various other venues.

“Would you like me to walk you back to your quarters, my lady? It _is_ getting late.” Her lips kiss-swollen and her belly full of beer, Llewyn realized she was very sleepy. She nodded.

“I would like that.” She replied, heavy eyelids fluttering. Thom offered his elbow and she took it, wrapping her arm around it lazily. They leisurely wandered towards the wing of the palace where the noble guests would be staying. The path they took was well lit and empty. They walked together as if they’d always done so, perfectly in stride with each other.

“Oh! I think we’ll have to part here.” Llewyn began to whisper as they neared her place of lodging, lingering behind a hedge. “I don’t want my parents knowing I was off gallivanting with some man. But…” She slid a hand down his chest, broad and barreled. “I, um, would like to see you again. If that’s alright.” Thom chuckled and ran a calloused palm over her soft cheek.

“I’d be a damned fool if I said it weren’t.” Llewyn pursed her lips to stop from grinning. She thought about the taste and feel of his lips and his cocky grin, and that they might know each other beyond that.

“I’ll be in the gardens tomorrow morning.” She offered.

“Then so will I.” His voice was a pleasing baritone that rumbled through her like a heartbeat. Then he kissed her sweet and long, a reluctant farewell.

“Good night.” She whispered as he left. He smiled and strode away, looking the proper amounts of dizzy and pleased with himself.

Once she was sure he was out of sight and earshot, Llewyn couldn’t help but pump her arms in celebration. She hadn’t expected to talk to anyone but her family during her time in Orlais, much less a man, much less a man who kissed her hard and called her beautiful. Her head swam- she never would have dreamed her first time away from home would go so well.

Her first and last time, probably. Even the inevitability of her house-arrest seemed less inevitable in her stupor. Perhaps she and Thom would truly fall in love tomorrow and they’d get married- surely her parents would consent, she was sure they would be grateful to offload her. She chided herself internally for her childishness. Dreams of a knight falling in love and spiriting you away were that of a little girl. But she let the dream linger despite herself, clinging to the fantasy and the freedom it brought.

She was nearly out of the courtyards and into the apartments where her family was staying. She marveled at the gardens, the delicately manicured bushes, the beds of still fragrant flowers despite the waning summer. Her own yards in Ostwick would look very poor in contrast. She tried to forget she was going home at all, and pretend she would go on living here and be courted by a dark and handsome Chevalier.

“What’re you doing out here, eh?” Llewyn jumped and spun around. A man lingered in the shadows between the lantern lights. She didn’t like the look of his face, from what little she could see. Had he been following her?

“I’m headed to my quarters, ser.” She responded, her posture growing rigid. Her voice wavered; she tried to muster a tone of authority but failed. The man wore a guardsman’s uniform and he looked more than a little bit drunk.

“Your room, eh? Goin’ there all by yourself? Don’t suppose you’d want some company.” Llewyn was growing steadily aware of how out of her element she was. In Ostwick, there were no guards trolling the grounds. In Ostwick she was barely allowed _outside_.

“No I’m quit alright- ah!” A hand gripped her shoulder and she jumped and yelped, spinning round to face another guardsman, also drunk and unwholesome-looking. Were these men joking? Surely they knew she was a noble, so they couldn’t think of hurting her, could they? Certainly not… She felt the tips of her fingers growing cold. _No, not now, just stay calm. Remember your training. We’ll get out of this_. She balled her fists.

“Hey, hey, no need to be so jumpy!” The other man cooed, patting her shoulder. “Just lookin for a friendly chat, is all.” Llewyn desperately wanted to believe that. She really wanted nothing more than for this to be nothing at all… but when she felt another hand on her waist, her fragile calm shattered.

“Get away!” She cried, pushing the first man away with more strength than she thought she had. Then with horror she realized her arm was aglow and cold with magic. Llewyn griped the hand, frantically trying to rub the cold away.

“Andraste’s tits!” The second man stumbled backwards. “You’re a… we wasn’t gonna hurt you!” He looked afraid but also riled. “And now he’s frozen! Did you kill him!?” Llewyn couldn’t move. Her breast heaved, her hand tingling. _Maker, no, I didn’t just do that…_ She heard a commotion behind her, more guards. “Get over here! We got- we got a mage here, an apostate!”

“No- please- it was an accident-“ Llewyn wanted to run- her whole body was screaming for her to do _something,_ but she could not. She felt herself stuttering more apologies, her knees shaking violently. She tried to back away, but something caught her foot and she fell. The cobbled ground was cold and hard. She felt a sharp pain.

Her head swam, no longer with dreams of love, but of terror, black and cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a twist!!! Haha sorry it was pretty abrupt and silly but I'm not gonna nitpick.
> 
> I really like writing a flirting Thom Rainier... cocky bastard.

**Author's Note:**

> That dance at the Winter Palace got me wondering- what if Thom and Llewyn had met under different circumstances?  
> They're going to be slightly different people than they are in (my) canon, Thom especially. I'm going to be playing with him a lot, because it's hard to tell how much of in-game Blackwall's self loathing came post-Callier and how much was there all along. I think it'll be quite fun. c:
> 
> I'm posting this late at night, so there may be typos. I'll give it another once-over when I post the next chapter, probably tomorrow. There's some romance coming up!
> 
> Also, this will get smutty pretty quickly- I estimate by chapter three things will get hot n' heavy. I know I hate when writers say "eventual smut," because I'm always like OKAY BUT WHEN? So there you go. Chapter 3. There will be sex things.


End file.
